A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews. If anyone was wondering, the title of chapter three was from Say Anything. The character of Diane sort of reminds me of Hermione a bit, especially when John Cusack says she's a brain "trapped in the body of a game show hostess". Keep on reading, it's part of my motivation for writing!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the numerous pop culture I reference throughout. Much love to J.K.R. 33.
- & -
Hermione woke up with a pounding headache. To be honest, she couldn't even remember anything about the previous night. She remembered Ginny saying that table dancing seemed like a good idea, and she vaguely remembered a brief conversation with Fred on the couch when she got home. But what had she said? What had he said? Had she admitted her feelings?
It was too early. She needed some really strong coffee.
Running her hands through her hair, she realized how dirty it felt. Her whole body felt ache-y and disgusting, really. She reached for the tea kettle. They didn't have a coffeemaker, but they did have instant.
"Sleep well, Hermione?" George asked as he entered the kitchen. His hair was standing up from all different angles and he was wearing a massive Weird Sisters t-shirt and a pair of red jockey briefs. The sight was almost too much for Hermione's early morning hangover eyes.
"Like a rock. Say, George do you know of…" Hermione had begun to ask if George knew any good cures for a hangover, but then realized that she would probably just end up with magenta hair or a swollen tongue if she took his advice.
"You look like shit," he said as he got out two mugs from the cabinet.
"Why thank you. You really do look becoming in those nuthuggers, you know."
George glanced down bashfully.
"I totally forgot I was wearing these, Now will you finally shag me?" he said grinning.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. George really did look adorable, sort of, like a little boy. Even with her migraine, she felt happy to be there in that moment.
The two of them looked up from their coffee when they heard Fred's bedroom door open. By the sound of him stomping across the living room floor, she could tell the happy moment had just ended.
"Good morning, gorgeous." George said at Fred's bedraggled appearance. He really did look absolutely terrible. He was wearing an old Weird Sisters t-shirt (must be a twin thing) with a hole under the arm and pants that appeared to have a jam stain just below the butt. His hair was in his face, but one could still see a glimpse of the bagged and bloodshot eyes underneath.
"Sod off," Fred muttered as he scratched his head. This caused the left side of hair to stick out at about a forty-five degree angle. Hermione began to tap her fingers on the table nervously. She honestly couldn't remember a thing about what transpired when she came in the night before, but it was obvious that she had made a grievous mistake. Well, someone did, anyway.
"Not feeling very pleasant, Sunshine?" George asked provokingly. There was nothing George enjoyed more than making his twin angry. It was just so… gratifying.
"Do you need the definition of sod off? I'm sure Hermione has a dictionary lying around somewhere."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. So it had been something she said the night before, if her feminine intuition was worth anything. She was tempted to ask him if he wanted Oxford Standard or Webster's, but thought better of it.
Hermione and George exchanged glances. Must be PMSing, George mouthed silently. She tried to stifle a laugh. Fred just grabbed a box of donuts off of the counter and a half gallon of milk and went into his room wordlessly, slamming the door as hard as he could with his hands full.
"Easy there, wouldn't want to be the tubby twin, now would we?" George called after him. Fred responded by throwing what sounded like a spoon against the inside of his bedroom door.
- & -
She was rifling through a rack of clearance dress robes when she caught a familiar gaze across Madame Malkin's women's department. Curious, she put down the two piece emerald green set she was eyeing and walked over to get a closer look.
It took her a few minutes to place name with the face. Long-ish dark hair, piercing stare, spindly arms paired with a lanky torso. He had delivered her a message at work the day before. What was his name?
"Berk?" she asked, surprised to find him looking at women's designer robes. She hoped she had gotten his name right, or that he even remembered her. He was really quite cute and imagined how many women's names he learned daily. Even now, Hermione could see a pair of eyes checking him out from behind a rack of plus size robes.
"Wow, Hermione. Nice to see you," he said. He really seemed to genuinely mean it.
She smiled. "You remembered my name."
"Of course I did. I make it a point not to forget the names of beautiful women," he said, cringing at the realization of how cheese his line had been.
"Are you looking for robes for your girlfriend? Or wife maybe?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager. She liked Fred, but he didn't seem to be showing much interest these days, especially with his outburst over breakfast, and Putnam Berkley was absolutely adorable.
He held up his left hand and wiggled his empty ring finger. That doesn't mean anything, Hermione thought, he could still have a girlfriend.
"No, I'm unattached. Apparently I don't load dishwashers properly or pick up my socks often enough," he wiggled his eyebrows and Hermione laughed a little before he continued, "These are for my sister actually. It's her birthday next week and I wanted something special for her," he said.
"Need some help? You look sort of lost." He did look hopelessly confused, surrounded in a multi-colored sea of satins and velvets.
"What's your price range?" she asked, feeling the sleeve of a particularly pretty violet robe. It cost a pretty penny, but it was gorgeous.
"I, er, don't have one really. Anything goes," he said. He seemed reluctant to admit that he had money. Odd, she thought.
"Well in that case, you might as well go for the best. Lady Laire makes robes for all the highest society witches. What color eyes does your sister have?"
"Green," he said curiously. He didn't see how his sister's eye color pertained to the task at hand.
"Then I would go with this one," she said, pointing at a plum knee length robe, "It will make her eyes pop."
He looked at the merchandise approvingly. She had very good taste.
"Thanks, I'll get this one then," he said bringing it over to the sales clerk who had been trailing behind him like a lion waiting for its prey. She complimented him on his choice, and he mentioned how it had been all Hermione's decision.
"You two make a lovely couple. What's the occasion?" she asked.
"Oh my, we're not a couple!" Hermione said, immediately wishing that she hadn't made it sound like the idea was completely ridiculous. He didn't seem to look too affected, although she wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing.
After the witch finished wrapping up the robes, Putnam turned to Hermione.
"Do you think you might want to come with me to Flourish and Blotts? I know a bookstore might seem boring, but I really need to pick up the new—"
"Charlottine Holmes?" Hermione asked, remembering that she had wanted to pick it up also.
"Yeah, actually, how'd you know?"
"Let's just say I read a little bit myself…" she said as they stepped out into the sunlit streets of Diagon Alley.
- & -
Three hours later, the two self-proclaimed bookworms were still chatting about their favorite authors as they ate boysenberry sundaes from Fortescue's. The sun was shining brightly on the two, as they discussed their lives and their literature. Putnam was also muggleborn, which Hermione took a liking to right away, since it meant that they had some common ground. He had lived his whole life in London and although he often imagined what life outside of England was like, he had never left the island. Hermione, in turn, told him all the wild stories of her travels across the globe. He was entranced.
"I've never met someone like you before," he said as he dug his spoon into the ice cream.
"Oh?" She said. She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not.
"You know, someone who speaks so confidently about the world, and politics, and books, and doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks."
"Have I offended you?" She asked, missing the point of his compliment.
"No, just enlightened me to the world of dating intelligent women," he said grinning slyly. His blue eyes seemed to light up when they met hers.
"Is that what this is? A date? Where I come from, a trip to the bookstore and some ice cream doesn't mean you're on a—" she stopped suddently as she felt his hand reach for hers on the table. Their touch wasn't electric, like it had been with Fred, but it was still very pleasant.
"Can I take you out sometime?" he asked, locking eyes with her again. With a face like that, how could a girl say no?
"Sure, anytime you like," she said, writing her number on a piece of paper and handing it to him. They sat together for a moment, in a silence, but not an awkward one. It was only then she noticed Fred walking out of a sweets shop across the street, taking a look at Berk and Hermione before turning the other way. Thanks for the acknowledgement, she thought bitterly. He didn't look angry, though, like before. Maybe now's the right time to try and patch things up.
"Well, thanks for everything Berk. Give me a ring tomorrow?" she asked vacantly, scanning the crowds along the sidewalk for Fred's crimson hair. She didn't even bother listening to Putnam's reply before getting her things together and dashing off to find Fred.
Luckily, he was stuck on a corner waiting for an extremely slow witch on an antique bicycle to finish crossing when she caught up to him. He looked considerably better than before. He changed into a sweater and jeans and had at least combed down the "wings" in his hair before being seen in public.
"Oh hello, Hermione." He said while crossing the street. He didn't even turn around to look at her for more than a second.
"Er, hello, Fred," she said cautiously to his back, "Can we talk somewhere?"
Fred jammed his hands into his pockets. "I suppose here is as good as anywhere," he said, leaning back against an old brick building. Hermione could see he was going to be difficult, but she wasn't about to give up.
"About last night…" she began hesitantly, even though she had put together a tiny speech in her head during the last moments of ice cream.
"Don't bother," he said, "You made yourself perfectly clear."
"But—"
"No buts, Hermione, it's done. Who was that you were with before?" he asked, nodding his head towards the ice cream parlor.
"Oh, just someone from work," she said. Did she want to say they were dating? No, that wouldn't make any sense as they hadn't even gone on a real date. She decided to try and avoid talking about the dynamics of their relationship with Fred until she knew herself.
"Someone from work? You've only been working for a day," he said, shifting his weight. Was it that incredulous that she might be attractive enough to pick someone up from work?
"Yes, actually. He's very nice. We're dating," she said quickly.
She could see in Fred's face that she had chosen the wrong wording. His blue eyes turned cloudy, as though he was thinking of something far off. In this case, trying to figure out how to respond to her little outburst.
"Do you even know his last name?" Fred was beginning to show the first stages of the infamous Weasley temper.
"Of course, we're dating for heaven's sake," she said impatiently, using the d-word as a weapon against the Big Bad Fred.
"How do you know he's not an axe murderer?" he asked, as though there were plenty of axe murderers around London, particularly ones who had gone through psychological training and worked at hospitals.
"Are you suggesting that I don't have good taste?" she asked seethingly. The Granger temper wasn't a force to be reckoned with, either.
"Your words, not mine," he said, almost slipping into George's sing-sing insult voice.
She yanked the shoulder strap on her bag and brushed her bangs out of her face so he could see just how mad she was getting. Her cheeks were turning red and her eyes were getting so dark, they were almost black.
He thought about how pretty she was when she was furious at him.
"That's it, I'm not just going to stand around while you insult me," she said, waiting for him to say something in response. Instead, he just shrugged and walked away, making her even more furious.
"FRED WEASLEY, I HOPE YOU KNOW THE DEFINITION OF SOD OFF BECAUSE—" she stopped in mid sentence when she realized that Fred was long gone and she wasn't making any sense, judging by the looks she was getting by other pedestrians.
They had obviously never had their taste in men insulted by a rather infuriating Weasley twin.
